The Golden Flask (16 page)

Alison nodded her head up and down. She could tell
that the woman did not believe her, but had no other lie to offer.

"And what happened to your boat?"

"The waves took it," said Alison. "We had to swim
to shore, from at least midway. My father — saved me."

"Fishing? At night?"

"It was only late afternoon when we sank."

"Your father seems quite young to have a boy your
age," said Lady Patricia.

"He seems old to me. But he has said my mother and he were young sweethearts."

"I see. And where is she?"

"She died. I was to have a younger brother."

Lady Patricia, who despite her high birth knew the
trials of childbirth all too well, nodded sadly. "Let me have George get you some breakfast. My husband and
brother are in the city," added the woman as she rose,
"or we would have been able to greet you properly. With the rebellion, of course, times are strained. And my brother's ways here are somewhat different than our own — refreshingly so, I think."

Alison nodded. She belatedly realized she should have gotten up when the woman did — it would have been considered the gentlemanly thing to do.

Fatigued by his exertions and relative lack of sleep, Jake found it difficult to shake off Morpheus's
shackles. He pushed his arms against the hard rocks beneath his chest several times before actually rising.
When he succeeded he found himself squinting not
into the sun but at a member of Her Majesty's Light Dragoons, an impressive if slightly haughty unit whose
members spent considerable time each day primping
the smart blue facings on their red uniforms — and a lot
more time practicing with their swords and carbines.

Only the fact that Jake's legs were still weighed down by the invisible forces of exhaustion kept him from bolting.

"Lady Patricia directed that I wait on you," said the
man. He was nominally at ease but still gripped his
carbine tightly. "Your son has already been taken in
side."

"My son?"

"He's quite safe inside Mr. Clayton Bauer's house.
Were there others in your boat?"

"In my boat — no. Just myself and my son," said Jake. Fatherhood had come upon him unexpectedly,
but he saw no option but to accept the condition grace
fully and without comment. "Is he all right?"

"He has been seen to, sir. Please come with me."

Jake nodded and followed. He'd picked a fine bit of
shore to wash up on. He wasn't sure who the lady would be, but Clayton Bauer was responsible for a
good number of Tory spy rings around the freshly de
clared nation. He was an important member of the city
commission, known as the police, besides.

Nor was he reputed to be particularly hospitable toward "rebels," no matter how cheerful the guard promised breakfast would be.

Chapter Fifteen

Wherein, Jake learns features of his past heretofore
unknown to him.

“
F
ather!
"

Caught off guard entering the hallway beyond the front door, Jake staggered backwards as Alison abruptly leapt into his arms.

"My name is Al and our last name is Stone," she
whispered quickly. "We were fishing."

"Your son told me of your shipwreck," said Lady
Patricia, coming out of the room behind Alison.

"My son told you, did he?" Jake put her down. "He's
a remarkable young man."

"I'm just glad you're alive," Alison said. "I did not think we would make it."

"It must have been quite a storm," said Lady Patricia, her arms folded. "Yet I did not hear any thunder last night."

"Surprising currents," said Jake, who read her smirk
all too well. "Not a storm. What else did Al tell you about our misfortune?"

"He has told me quite a lot. How the rebels burned you out of your home and left you penniless, so you
had to make a living fishing. How you saved his life on
the water last night, and plucked him from danger a dozen times. You sound like quite a hero."

"I'm sure every father is a hero in his son's eyes,"
said Jake. "Though I would allow as to how he may tend
to exaggerate at times."

"I am Lady Patricia," she said, smiling in a way that suggested she was entering into a mild conspiracy with him.

"Pleased to meet you, m'lady." Jake returned the smile. "Your husband is most famous. I had not heard he had wed, but then it has been long since I was in the city. Is he awake?"

"Clayton Bauer is my brother," she answered. "He is awake but not at home. My husband and he are seeing to business in town."

"Excuse me for my mistake." Jake's air, at once gracious and mildly flirtatious, could not have been more finely tuned if he were at King George's court.

"I have only recently arrived from England," continued Lady Patricia, "where I can assure you my husband William is almost completely unknown, despite the fact that he is the third earl of Buckmaster and a peer."

There was just the slightest hint of annoyance in her voice.

"I'm sure you exaggerate," said Jake. Lady Patricia's skin was nearly translucent, lighter than the downy white of her long, low-waisted white gown. The stomacher pulled tight at her waist rose like a funnel of silk tissues to the large scoops of her bosom. Undoubtedly considered simple, everyday wear in her circle at home, it would have passed for a ball gown in America. Though she might be close to forty, she had the body of a woman barely older than Alison, and carried herself with the simple grace of a woman born not merely to station but beauty as well. Her face was light and cheerful; Rubens, perhaps, would have used her as a model when contemplating beauty.

"You are charming as well as mysterious," Lady Patricia told him. "George, show Mister …"

"Stone," said Jake.

Lady Patricia nodded, though it was clear she did not believe most if any of what Alison had told her. "Show Mister Stone upstairs. I believe my brother would not begrudge him a fresh set of clothes. And thank you for
the shoes. Your son has fit perfectly into my … poor dead
son's old clothes," Lady Patricia added to Jake.

With her last sentence, the studied polish of light
chatter chipped away, and the woman showed her true face. It was no less beautiful for not being daubed with
rouge, and considerably warmer.

Alison's expression clouded. She had not realized she was wearing a dead boy's clothes.

A thousand calculations fluttered through Jake's
brain. Clayton Bauer was a close associate of Andrew
Elliot, the hideous Scotsman who had returned from
exile in the Jersey mountains to become the city's su
perintendent general, the highest-ranking civilian authority on the island. He could, on his own authority, have Jake put to death for as much as sneezing out of
place — and with about as much thought.

On the other hand, Bauer's duties as spymaster
would put him in a position to answer the perplexing
question Jake had been sent here to answer. An hour of rifling his study might save the Revolution.

And a third hand, or at least consideration, pre
sented itself: The beautiful woman standing before him
fully realized he was not who he, or rather Alison, claimed. If they could not fool her, how could they hope to fool her brother? Already the redcoat guard behind him seemed edgy and suspicious.

"We must be on our way," said Jake.

"Do stay," said Lady Patricia, taking his arm. "My
husband and brother will be in the city for several hours, and I would much appreciate the conversation
of two people familiar with the rebellion. My only son
was a young officer in Lord Cornwallis's army in the
Jerseys this past winter when he disappeared. It would
give me some solace to know more of this land."

"We have our own business in the city," said Jake.
"But it would be ungracious of me to turn aside your
kindness."

"I'll show you to the room where you can change, Father," said Alison, springing forward and taking Jake by the hand. "I know the way."

"I will see to breakfast," said Lady Patricia. "When you are done, we will be in the dining room."

"Yes, m'lady," said Jake, as Alison pulled him up the staircase.

His decision to stay involved more than the admittedly long-shot chance that he might search Bauer's office. Lady Patricia had charmed him. Her voice, while it contained the presumptive tone common to all British nobility, was softened in a most human way. How many earls' wives would condescend to seeing to breakfast themselves?

But life's more pleasing quandaries often must stand in line behind more pressing questions.

"Why did you tell them you were a boy?" Jake hissed at Alison after they closed the door behind them.

"She assumed I was. I thought it too dangerous to enlighten her."

"Her brother organizes Tory spy rings," said Jake. "And she has already seen through your fishing tale." He went to the window to peek through the curtains. Besides the man who had taken him from the beach, he had noticed two guards in the foyer and another pair on the front lawn. Now he saw two more posted at the rear of the property. Not overwhelming numbers, to be sure, but trouble enough.

"It's spooky to be wearing a dead boy's clothes," said Alison. "I feel as if I'm a ghost."

"That would be most convenient," said Jake. "You could slip through the walls and escape. Or search Clayton's office for me."

"Is that what we're going to do? I'm ready." Alison started for the door.

"No!" Jake grabbed her. "It's far too dangerous. There are redcoats all around, and God knows how many servants. We are not playing a game," he added. "We will have to tread very lightly here. You wanted adventure — well, here is some, and we must not lose our heads over it, you understand? If we are discovered, we will both be hanged."

"Yes, father."

Jake snorted. "We have some time before her brother returns. Let me discover what she knows. If I disappear for a while, continue talking with her."

"She is easy to talk to, though a bit suspicious."

"We will have to give away your story. It's too obvi
ous that it's fake."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not your father."

"How would she know?"

A knock on the door killed Jake's sardonic reply. He
found the servant standing outside the room with a set
of clothes in his hand. Jake took them and dismissed the man.